"rehearsing" poems
Sexting Texting What a mess! Texting sexting Do you wanna have *** Flirting How about that ***** Taking naked pictures galore? How can I compete With all that meat That’s got you hooked On a fishing reel Pulling you in So you can spill All over them All the time While you’re here On my dime Resurfacing What’s going on On your phone Am I the only one you’re surfing? I think not! I doubt it a lot! No wonder I didn’t get it. Rehearsing I need a shot! For what I got, Is not enough! Working On this thing, Give me a swing, Stuck in a child. Nursing Or did you not **** the breast Big and full On your mama’s chest? Churching What happened to that spot? Not enough. You got a lot. Cursing Sexting texting Guess I’ll join the game. Texting sexting Maybe this will bring me fame. Or will I proclaim Your name?
Listen to the poetry podcast for more inspiration:
https://www.buzzsprout.com/12801/101854-sexting-and-texting-episode-of-relationship-rock-building-relationships-that-last
or listen to “Sexting and Texting” on iTunes:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/relationship-rock-shirah-chante/id670836453#
Watch "Sexting and Texting" on YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=AQmw9N1rrKE&video;_referrer=watch
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
This is not your role. You're not here to stay. But don't forget your lines. Say it anyway... "I love you. I can't live without you in my life. I want to make you my wife"
You play the part well! but you're not the one. You will be replaced when the real star comes.
Of course my part doesn't change. I will promise to love you forever. I will say my heart is yours. That with you my life feels better. But these words aren't meant for you. I'm just practicing my lines. I'm so good at it now. I've been rehearsing a long time.
You're just another stand in. In a long line of men. The auditions have not finished. That they will, who knows when? But your role here is done.. Call in the next one...
© 2012
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
Resisting your surrender
Like a passionate pretender
Cursing your existence
So unruly cant even believe it
Rehearsing until morning
For a ending to your story
Searching for a reason
Why you’re always out of season
Still wearing those ***** clothes
And swearing at the Her ghost
Living in your furry
Just makes things more blurry
Some drunken thrills
Followed by some healing pills
Staring at the mirror
Thinking it will look clearer
Resisting your departure
And what seems like constant torture
Insisting on the weather
To lead you somewhere farther
Counting on tomorrow
To release you from your sorrow
Leads you to forgiveness
Repenting all your sins and
Starting a new chapter
In this new world that you are after
Living in the moment
Gives you quick atonement
Walking from the ashes
The past and what it’s taken
Your soul now unbroken from this spell
That had you been under
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC
On the prom, in chairs of similar design
actors, support artists and crew.
Chatted in between takes as the sun shone
around the The Cafe' television set.
In a seaside town they each came together
that day it was unsettled weather.
The atmosphere was friendly nobody left out
congenial conversation not forced.
That created the mood for a great shoot
as a new comedy series was made.
On the seafront with a train ride there
passers by were everywhere.
Actors were also rehearsing another scene
under a canopy while it rained.
Fascinated I watched and laughed as well
feeling part of that moment.
In this privileged spot to observe first hand
by the sea close to the sand.
The Foureyed Poet.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 4:17 AM UTC
~
*Ragged mist of stalled horizon,
from dry dock
to disadvantage point
second hand shops
of sackcloth and ash,
they contain multitudes
treading the outside edge
of perception,
rehearsing disaster
in fistfuls of earth,
and the immaterial:
the stuff of pure shadow
a bevy of dead buildings
resemble a fallen actress
in the throes of dance,
with emaciated figurines leaning
forward in the temple,
listening for clues
too far to whisper
work will never resume
on the tower,
and it will remain painfully scanty,
a place to bury strangers
or raise up cholera
the third world summer
sun on sacred walls,
red before orange,
let the rays burn away our sins,
we contain multitudes
but one step inside doesn't mean
we understand anything*
~
Mar 22, 2023
Mar 22, 2023 at 5:29 PM UTC
The most common magic trick I've ever seen is making a 100mm stick disappear.
It is the oldest trick in the book.
Everyone knows how it’s done but everyone is always never tired of being the audience to it.
Maybe it’s because the audience is always invited to take part in the act.
The trick is always done by a stressed magician,
The trick mocked by kids trying to imitate the 100mm disappearing stick trick.
They hide under the pretence of being stressed.
They disgrace the world class performers that had practiced the routine so much throughout their lives.
Never quitting
And
Always over rehearsing.
The performers would always keep practicing until it becomes its second nature like breathing.
Until it becomes like a habit,
Until they become too passionate to the routine on perfecting the make-believe act.
That they are too obsessed to realized they had become addicted to it.
They had become too reliant over it and that they can't live without it.
Even on their last breath they would attempt to show its final performance and draw its strength from it.
The most common magic trick I've ever seen involves a 100mm stick disappearing.
The trick is like every other disappearing magic act.
First the object is lit on fire with a light,
Second the smoker kisses the object and takes a deep inhale praying the performance would go well.
Third you get distracted by the smokes given off in the exhale
And ...ta da.
While the Smoke rises
It is estimated
14 minutes of the magician's life disappearing.
However the audience is too focused on the main act of the 100mm stick disappearing to notice.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
Visitors pass from empty bed
to empty bed, like Royals,
silently soaking up the dread
atmosphere with remote respect.
Examining clipboard histories,
rehearsing their medical soaps.
Volunteers answer questions,
the front line troops in trying
to raise our war dead back to life.
Have a care John Willie was not
just a private, not a number,
nor a diagnosis. He was
a person and a brave soldier.
Old photos frame soldiers' pains,
they're wearing posterity masks,
hiding feelings and memories
that lurch back again and again.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
rehearsing...
in the mind
he rehearses
a sequence of blows
lefts and rights
uppercuts
the jabbing low
whilst dancing and skipping
on spry feet
insides...
butterflies start to flutter
around in his insides
yet knowing the opponent
must not see any nerves
he's got to be
cool
and
assertive
the glove's punch
deliveries
being
a
bout
winner
dreaming...
it's fight night
at the Las Vegas
Grand Garden Arena
he'll slog it out
for the welter weight title
muscles
poised
his package
ready
to wear the crowning
belt buckle
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
Sitting alone in my bed,
Anxiously yearning the touch of something different.
Contemplating about differences,
Visualizing the new experiences,
Mesmerizing about different beauties,
Fantasizing the new opportunities,
About women of different cultures,
Ethnicity and upbringing.
Pay no mind to the language barrier,
As our body speak that universal language,
We can have intellectual conversations,
We can have passionate interactions.
Lets's ponder with deep imagination,
As we diversify this love, ignore it's discrepancies,
So girls of all colors come closer and get drawn like crayola,
As we paint this picture to see what we can make of this blend of colors.
Envision this:
Background music effectively babysitting my thoughts as I listen,
Laying under the moon,
With that special person.
Inwardly rehearsing,
Every move to make,
Opportunities to take,
Intaking the passion from the air she breathes out,
Creating chemistry not even Einstein could figure out.
This love should be an equal opportunity,
You plus me that's all that should matter.
So would you explore your heart?
Release the stereotypes that keep you in the dark?
As darkness falls,
Our temperatures rise.
A reflection of moonlight shimmers in those eyes.
They tell me your secrets;
I tell you no lies.
What lies beneath your skin will be ugliness' demise.
Ironic, in the dark you see me for who I truly am.
And I tell you who you truly are.
So far. So good.
So deep, it goes beneath your beauty,
It goes beyond whatever society will tell you not to do with me.
Tonight your biases shall not rule thee,
For I am king of this pride.
Swallow your pride and swallow my pride.
Release the wait of inhibition and take this ride.
Our inner flames fueled by passion shall light our way.
They say, we are blind but it is only in darkness that we truly see.
Give up shallow emotions, let your heart be free.
Immerse yourself in this reality:
My love is river, all else is only skin deep.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 7:11 AM UTC
Twas the last day of school
before a long winter break
Not a student was learning,
they were all munching on cake
The children had tidied,
supplies all snug in their places
With candy cane smiles
lighting up their sweet faces
The artwork was stowed
in their backpacks with care
In the hope that they'd bring
holiday cheer home to share
When outside the portable
there arose such a clatter
Ms. G sprang from the party
to see what was the matter
The class followed her out,
filling up the whole porch
And right out in front of them,
near as a bright as a torch
Rudolph, nose blazing red
through the dark Vancouver rain,
Behind him the reindeer
pulling Santa’s sleigh like a train
Santa jumped out spritely,
red hat bouncing with glee
He waved at the group and
boomed out, "Hello there Ms. G,"
“And Division 14,
all of you good girls and boys.
We’re rehearsing our run
to practice delivering toys”
The reindeer pranced all round,
putting on a fine show
Santa offered his hand and said,
“Come on Ms. G, let’s go,”
“We’ll drop you in Mexico
before we head back,”
Ms. G happily agreed, asking
“do you have time for a snack?”
The class joyfully welcomed
the jolly crew to the party
They delighted in the games
and the food, eating hearty
Too soon it was time
for the guests of honour to go
Santa sprang to his sleigh and
exclaimed, ** ** **
"Now, Rudoph and Dasher!
Dancer, Prancer and *****
Now, Comet! on, Cupid!
On, Donner on Blitzen!
“To the top of the portable
then over the school
To Mexico we go,
to Ms. G’s holiday by the pool.”
And off the sleigh flew
with Ms. G safely strapped in,
Her pink toque a-bobbing,
her face all a-grin
They heard him exclaim,
ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Holidays to all,
and to all a good night!"
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 2:37 PM UTC
If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.
Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.
If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby's thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.
Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with greet girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the ****
Nor the outspoken grave.
If I were tickled by the lovers' rub
That wipes away not crow's-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the ***** and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts' toes.
This world is half the devil's and my own,
Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man's shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.
And that's the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his ***
From damp love-darkness and the nurse's twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.
And what's the rub? Death's feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.
2.2k
In My Many Travels and dealing with the challenges of MAN'S MIND, Teaching and Learning with each STEP; I HAVE THIS "BURNING" DESIRE , For the "W H Y S " of life. SO, I ASK OF YOU !! Have you ENCOUNTERED ANY OF THE "FOLLOWING " ?___________(#1)= The Trail we Leave Precedes us, BUT the Shadow, do WE Lead or Follow. (#2)= "SHUCKS" said the Cowboy as He climbed upon the Steed, forgetting to put on His SPURS, NOW what would GOAD the Ride, to the SPUR store "OR" would a collection of SHARP words "WORK AS WELL" ? (#3)= Don't Tell Anyone, BUT, I have found a WORLD where the meaning of words are OBLIQUE to the words we use, Can YOU believe it, I've seen them ! (#4) The NICE THING about being OBLIQUE, when using "HIDDEN-MEANING" words and Allegories, the "ENEMY" *CAN'T Hear the words of TRUTH COMING! (#5) Do YOU realize that Glistening afternoons "USUALLY" result in "SHINING" attitudes for the Evenings; "GO FOR IT ! (#6)= For Those who are Still Rehearsing their LIFE; It's time to go Stage-Front, Turn off House lights,,Bring-up the SPOTS and see what "GOD" has in store for YOU ! (#7)= I USED to smell like Canteloupe, THEN, I discovered "ESCARGOT", NOW I Smell like an "OIL-SLICK" , What is? The Price of a Barrell today ? *(#8)= MY Songs are Not Just Words Written on Paper, BUT the Voices from My VERY Heart and the Melody Has JUST Begun ! ___"EVEN AS I held them up to the GREAT-LIGHT WITH HOPE= "YES" *TRULY I Understand NOW the "W H Y " of "OBSCURE OBSERVATIONS".......
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 3:16 AM UTC
When sleep eludes me at night
And my mind floats aimless
Like a sail boat idle on the sea
When on my bed I lie staring vacant
At the pale moon that gleams,
A medley of sounds falls in my ears
I hear the chirp of cicadas, the screech of bats
The hooting of owls, the flutter of moths
The staccato notes of the crickets
And the shrill sonorous music of grass hoppers
Among these and the silent music of the stars
The one sound that delights me most
Is the sound of the whistling Thrush
Her loud song cuts through the air
And mingles with the soft hush of leaves
Hidden in the blanket of darkness
I am not privileged to see this beryl bird
To me, a Goddess of enchantment n’ magic
Sometimes like a sweet secret
She emerges from the depth of a ravine
Sometimes she hides in the leafy coverage
Of a nearby poplar tree
Always she starts with a hesitant whistle
As though rehearsing her own art
However gaining confidence
And happy over her trial attempt
She soon bursts forth into 'full throated' song
Creating such sweet vibes of warm feeling
And producing in me an instant healing
Nay, she sets my soul on fire
And swallows me whole
Creating in me an eternal longing
To hear her pour out that celestial melody
Sitting in some far fringe of Heaven
To make me lose myself within myself
And slosh my soul in mad ecstasy!
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 7:17 AM UTC
*I urge you not to trust a magician
Leaves you in disbelief,
makes you question without permission
Perception is everything,
intercepting your understanding,
patience is wearing thin
I promise you
I was a victim of trusting
someone who’s double faced
Showing me tricks, and
they had me begging for double takes
A bitter pill that I always had trouble swallowing,
please heed my words
as I warn you about the following:
I paid to see* Fate The Fantastical
*Showing sketchy tactics and
very far from magical
Stuck in your life and you're seeking help?
He'll try to convince you
that he's the monster who played
the hand that you were dealt
A "one-way" in your journey never existed
so throw those cards back in his face,
tell him “don’t get it twisted!”
Then leave the show and get your money back,
fill your money bag quick
while making your own plans
with money stacks
I saw the power of* The Spellbinding Heart-Breaker
*He promises forever but claims he’ll see you later
I caught him backstage
rehearsing his apology
illusionist at heart
and a student of escapology
A Houdini whodunit level of disappearance
Shackled by love and commitment,
begging for interference
And my advice is that
you crash his performance
Reveal him to the audience,
damage would be enormous
The mental menace known as* Doubt The Diabolical
*The worst of the bunch since
he’s demanding and methodical
He has the gift to convince you
To give up on your dreams,
Taking the stage with volunteers,
“voices” sing his theme
Enticing suicide, heartless,
and pushes you aside
Signals your sayonara by
serving you soothing cyanide
So boo him off the stage
as loud as you can!
Steal his thunder, change the world
'cause I’m one among your many fans!*
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
By the time we reached the final act
our dialogues turned to whispers
warmed us the pledge to the silent pact
we would be rehearsing under the stars
dew would damp the players' cloth
all but the two were gone
who were tied by the burning oath
must shape their roles to perfection
owls hooted in the night's shadow
world slept behind shut door
we were numbed to the time's flow
by the sounds of claps encore
one the alien had blood thick green
that only the ****** revealed
when unbeknownst was cut his skin
by the other soon to be killed
that time now ***** to yellowed page
long back fate set him free
my skin is now bold in age
he's evergreen in memory.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Today, I am among the half-dead again
Wandering the halls with a gaze that could disintegrate the sun
The world around me is painted in an elephant grey
But this safari feels empty and yet so congested
With a smile that’s been sloppily and gruelingly painted on,
I face the challenges of everyday life once more
Half of me is tuned in to the things around me,
Scribbling words and deciphering the text at a snail’s pace
But the other half is still dreaming,
Waging war against the strongest mages of our time
Or drowning among a school of clownfish
Either way I’m not here and I’m begging to be free
Today, I am among the half-dead again
I imagine that someday a dragon will take me away
This may simply be my dreaming side taking over again
But if I said it could burn away all my worries,
Wouldn’t you wish for that as well?
I would hop onto its scaly back and point towards the sky,
Chanting as if I had been rehearsing for this moment,
“Anywhere is fine, as long as it’s not here”
But until then, I am drenched in my own rain
And the smile has run off with it, off to somewhere far away
Today, I am among the half-dead again
With weights tightly chained to my fingers
I’m dragging my thoughts along with my spirit
I’m a little bit tired but maybe if I wait, tomorrow will be a much better day
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
He had been robbed of all character and individuality.
Once eyes had shone outwards, now white dwarf orbs shimmering from porcelain remained.
There was no excess whatsoever, nothing frivolous; his sinewy frame carried not an
ounce of surplus fat, nor did his attire serve any social function other than to cover his hijacked carcass.
He walked the streets anonymously, blending in like an instinctive chameleon, single mindedly rehearsing
the acts of the play that cycled through him.
Score. Cook. Nod. Kick. Relapse.
That was when I promised myself I'd never chase again.
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC
I was born into a famine
that had nothing to do with bread.
Love was rationed in screams or absence,
served in scraps too small to even fill a sparrow.
It folded children into masks,
teaching them to barter their bodies,
their brilliance,
for one spoonful of being seen.
Starvation is generational —
My grandparents wore silence
like a second skin,
their hunger pressed into my parents’ palms
who learned to mistake
approval for affection,
discipline for devotion.
By the time it reached us,
the scarcity became lineage:
my sister and I
daughters of starvation,
gnaw on shadows,
calling it comfort,
rehearsing the same ache —
our bodies learning
to beg in disguises.
Late twenties,
and the fridge hums louder than I do
bones hum with the ache of it,
eyes swollen from begging the air
to answer back.
I peel the silence open with my teeth.
There’s nothing inside.
I am tired of carrying
an empty bowl across centuries.
I will not pass down
a hollow mouth.
May my hands
unlearn famine.
Love will be abundant
in the soil I leave behind.
- V
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 5:01 AM UTC
Stages and dance rooms,
makeup and costumes.
Auditions and lead roles,
complete self control.
State capitols and groups
of professional troops.
Judging my acting,
attention attracting.
Sweat, blood, and tears.
Realizing my fears.
Blocking and accents,
and never an absence.
Rehearsing for hours,
the feeling empowers.
I live for theatre,
but may be too eager.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
An angel of war sends me photographs, black and white.
I surrender, so we
chew on Floridian palms, the majesty of loons,
and how to capture the moon.
I've hidden his photographs behind a mask that hangs from my mirror,
where I spend hours rehearsing
how to disappear.
Eye do look on that day with anxious yearning;
his epic
return to the void,
because a tug of war is always easier without handling the rope,
and I cannot force his wings closed. I cannot soften the blow.
His motions
like ocean tides,
so strong and so slow.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
~
gold-encrusted jewels dance
on sun-drenched ocean stacks,
his rugged rocks etched deep
by her waves from far beneath,
and Pacific’s gusty breath;
his wind-swept islets burn,
aflame in sunset's dying embers,
like a lover's siren call.
his chiseled keyholes waiting
for the ciphered piercing rays
to collide in rushing tidal spray.
unlocking sunset's golden hour...
surging forth then quickly fades,
as sunbeam fingers slowly slip,
beneath horizon's sultry lip;
dusk unfolds in magic hues,
molten rose turns scarlet blues,
night descends as one by one,
we raptured star-kissed lovers
disembark this ferris wheel;
the curtain falls again,
with sea and rocks
rehearsing lines
to play again another day.
this their theatre
of the night,
performed by two alone,
beneath the moon
and starry sky.
~
*post script.
our last time through in 2004 was a blur on our way through to San Diego, an exhilarating ride for certain, with all of its bends and curves experienced top down in a convertible, but hardly doing justice to Big Sur’s stunning scene in mere hours; we told ourselves we simply had to return.
it took eleven years, and this time we spent a full five days and nights along Highway 1, towing a camper and slow-driving south from Monterrey all the curves to Morro Bay, exploring just about every hike and lookout in between; and in so doing, validating our return in a most satisfying way. Big Sur is officially off our bucket list! her sunsets were particularly rewarding, especially two... one enjoyed at sea level, from the sand and keyholes at Pfeiffer Beach day use area, the other delighted us from high above the ocean waves, seated at the picnic table of our cliff-side camp site at Kirk Creek Campground.
a most refreshing time to recuperate and recharge our spirits; five glorious days of disconnection, reconnecting to nature, each other and best of all, life at the speed of sunsets and star gazing; evenings spent round the campfire with no cell, no i-pad, no laptop, only the light of the fire, the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes!*
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
Falling for toxic boys
when will we realise
Mr. Wrong wreaks havoc
whereever he goes
leaving behind a litany of woes
What’s the attraction of the bad lad?
known universally as a cad
pure catnip for some women
in their pool I won’t be swimming
Maybe their addicted to drama
flying in the face of karma
is ungentlemanly behaviour mistaken for passion
or wearing a lothario the new fashion
Their well versed in the art of seduction
continuously rehearsing their next production
maybe romance with a ladies man is a headrush
back in the day I had many a bad lad crush
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Here we are on this Hell,
On this cold Earth,
Trapped in His Heaven*
Deceived since our birth.
Looking and searching,
for nothing we'll find.
Even when we think
it is found
It's always a lie
Living content, when we deserve so much more.
Still think it's found?
You're being fooled by sight.
Being filled with sound
You're not fighting my fight.
In lovers we find adventure and turn
Being stupid and naive, I wonder why you've been burned
Say you're in love with all you believe
Just keep following that perfect road
Yellow Brick Road of deceit.
Promise it's set in stone
Keep lying through your teeth.
Continue rehearsing the lines,
Love, fate, destiny
When really it's all coincidence
Chance, probability.
Believe there is something beyond
Cause there never will be.
Tell yourself the truth,
You'll never be happy.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
We’ve spent months and weeks and nights perfecting the curvature of my body molding against yours
as my fingers slip in among strands
and my knees bend just a little
to make sure my chest is resting
beside your center of operations
My head nods forward and then dips back
my lips have come to expect the
next sensation of exhalation
meeting here
meeting fear
Because now there is no practice
for our congregation of cells
no preparation for parting your lips
or my thighs
We are rehearsing in our minds
how to make thought pictures die
until practice with a stranger starts again.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC